


My True Love Gave To Me

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Damian has a crush and has no idea what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a winter holidays 2014 tumblr prompt
> 
> I live for Damian having multiple dads. And I couldn’t stop myself from incorporating all three of his dads in this one just a little bit, oops. Damian’s like 19/21 in this one. Also Kon wasn’t jealous of Damian or in love with Tim or anything, he’s Tim’s best friend, thus claimed himself the protector of Tim’s virtue.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Clark drawled, sauntering into Bruce’s study. “First I find Dick sulking on sofa, now you’re staring angrily out a window? What, were all your uniforms accidentally dyed pink?”

Bruce didn’t move, only his gaze shifted towards Clark as the man stepped up next to him. His voice was low and grumpy. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t visit my boyfriend whenever I want? Rude.” Clark joked. Bruce’s lips pursed. “Alright, alright, sorry. No more jokes.” He held up his hands. “If you must know, Alfred called me. Said you were acting weird. Want to fill me in?”

Bruce merely grunted, but Clark had learned a long time ago how to outwait his broody counterpart. “I’m…concerned.”

“…About?”

“Damian.”

“Ah.” Clark clicked his tongue. That would explain Dick’s equally pouty mood as well, then. “Why?”

“He won’t talk to me. Won’t talk to Dick either. Won’t talk to _anyone_.” Bruce sighed, apparently unable to stop now that he’d started. “It started a few weeks ago, according to Dick. You and I were in deep space with the League. He, Damian, Cassandra and Tim were out on patrol. There were a couple close calls but nothing out of the ordinary. The only slightly unusual thing was that at one point they were separated. Tim and Damian were captured together and-”

“Kara and Kon came and helped rescue them. They told me.” Clark nodded. “They said they got your boys out with time to spare. Minor cuts, Damian might have had a concussion. Otherwise…”

“Hm.” Bruce mumbled. “Since then Damian’s been…closed off. Isolates himself whenever possible. Locks himself in his room. Dick and I try to talk to him, but he just shrugs and says ‘I’m fine.’”

“But…you don’t think he is.” Clark concluded. Bruce’s silence was confirmation enough. “Okay. Want me to try?”

Bruce blinked before his head twitched around. “What?”

“Long shot, I know.” Clark laughed. “I know Damian doesn’t like a whole lot of people outside of…well, his pets, but still.”

Bruce scrunched his lips as he raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“Maybe…whatever’s going on, he’s embarrassed to talk to you about.” Clark explained. “And maybe I’m just objective enough that he’ll let a few details slip.”

Bruce remained silent, but his face slipped into consideration.

“It’s worth a shot, at the very least.” Clark shrugged. “Where is the little tyke anyway?”

Bruce turned back towards the foggy window. “Out there, by the cemetery entrance with Titus.” His frown deepened. “He’s been out there for _hours_ , he must be _freezing_. He…I think he’s avoiding me. Us. Dick and I.”

“Ah, the good ol’ Wayne stubbornness. Nothing too extreme when you don’t want to do something, not even hypothermic temperatures.” Clark sighed wistfully. Bruce furrowed his brow.

“I’m just-”

“Worried, I know.” Clark cut off. He leaned forward, giving Bruce a quick peck on the cheek. “If I can’t get him to talk, then at the very least I promise to get him back inside.”

Bruce was never given the chance to protest before Clark disappeared back into the hall.

~

Flakes fell daintily onto his black coat and he popped his collar against the frosty wind. The snow was crunchy under his boots, so he knew there was no chance of sneaking up on the former assassin child. Not that he wanted to, of course. Damian was never one for tricks. Now seemed like a bad time to try and wean him into them.

The boy was no longer at the cemetery entrance, but through it. He was standing in front of the cracked and faded stones of his grandparents, his giant dog tight against his side. The animal was shivering, just slightly, but he obviously wasn’t going to leave Damian out here alone, not for anything. Titus turned as Clark approached, tail waving happily.

“Hey, Damian.” He greeted warmly, falling in line with him. Much like his father, Damian remained still. His own black jacket had a faint white coating on it, signs that he hadn’t moved for a while, outside of coming to the Wayne headstones. His face was half buried in the red scarf wrapped around his neck, so only his nose up were visible. But his cheeks were pink and nose was running. He glanced up only briefly before his gaze fell back to his grandmother’s grave.

“Kent.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“What’re you doing in the graveyard?”

“Thinking.”

“Oh, cool.” Clark nodded. “What’re you thinking about?”

Damian sighed, and the huff warm breath escaped his cocoon of a scarf like a smoke signal. He stuffed his blue-mittened hands into his pockets. “You’re an incredibly poor spy for my father, you know.”

“I know.” Clark grinned. “He’s just worried, Damian. Dick, too. They think you’ve shut yourself off. They just want you to talk to someone.”

“I could think of about seven people more qualified to have me… _open up_ than you.” Damian snapped.

“Great!” Clark exclaimed. “Give me their names and I’ll go collect them for you right now.”

Damian’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed in clear displeasure. Clark just widened his smile as he sidestepped closer, reaching out to pet Titus’s head between them.

“I won’t tell your dad. Or your brother, or _anybody_. Not if you don’t want me to. It can stay between you and me.” Clark swore quietly. Damian sighed again, but this time it sounded resigned, and dropped his head. “So tell me what’s going on.”

There was a small pause. “That’s…the problem. I…I don’t _know_ what’s going on.”

“Fair enough.” The wind blew across the graveyard, flapping Damian’s scarf. “Try to explain it to me.”

Damian twisted his face, staring up at the sky with a fierce focus. “How do you…” He made a soft noise of discontent and shook his head. “When did you realize you had… _feelings_ for my father?”

Oh. _Oh_.

“I dunno.” Clark admitted. “I just kind of…did. Just kind of…dawned on me one day. Like an epiphany.”

“Hm.” Damian didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but he didn’t seem annoyed by its vagueness either. “How do you…show affection?”

“Well, there’s a lot of ways to do that.” Clark responded thoughtfully. “Depends on the situation, really.”

“I see.”

“Do you like someone?” Clark prompted. “Or… _think_ you like someone?”

“I…” Damian shrugged, blinking as snowflakes floated onto his eyelashes. “Maybe.”

Clark couldn’t stop the light chuckle that escaped his lips. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about having a crush on someone, Damian.”

“It’s not the _what_ ,” Damian exhaled. “It’s…the _who_.”

“Oooh.”

“And I…I highly doubt that this person would return the affections. After all, I don’t deserve them. I _know_ I don’t.” Damian let out a shout of frustration, suddenly covering his face with his hands and sinking into a crouch. The move was unexpected, and Clark found himself glancing back at the house. He could see Bruce still standing in his study window, Dick now standing with him. They both looked equally alarmed. He could see Dick backing up, clearly about to sprint outside. Clark quickly shook his head, saw Bruce grab Dick’s arm. “And even if I didn’t come to that conclusion myself, _your clone_ told me so.”

Clark blinked dumbly as he looked down, and realization washed over him. Because if _Kon_ was talking to Damian about this, then that meant the person Damian had a crush on was-

“But I still want to…” Damian’s voice came out muffled behind his mittens. “…I don’t know how to phrase it. Do something nice? But subtle. So Father and the others don’t know. I mean, I thought I already _was_ being subtle, but somehow your _stupid successor_ noticed and…”

Slowly, Clark knelt next to the boy. He reached a hand out to Damian’s shoulder, whispering. “Kon shouldn’t have said those things to you, Damian. You deserve Tim’s affections just as much as he does.”

Damian curled in tighter on himself; it seemed he was still in borderline denial. After all, not to long ago, he’d tried to kill the older man, had hated him to his very core. And the feeling had most likely mutual at one point. The two couldn’t even be in the same room, sometimes let alone the same building. It hadn’t been like that for at least a year, but still. The complete turn around was probably a bit of a shock, even for the stoic young hero.

“Now, I can’t promise it’ll be the type of affection you want.” Clark clarified. “It might be more friendly than… _romantic_ , but you do deserve it. You deserve _a lot_ of it, Damian. Don’t let _anyone_ make you feel different.”

Damian remained curled in his little ball, but his muscles relaxed as Titus licked at his exposed ear.

“As for doing something nice…” Clark hummed. “Gifts are nice.”

Damian peeked up at him. His eyes were sad and face almost wrecked. Clark had a feeling that this went beyond a crush, that this didn’t just start a few weeks ago when the two were kidnapped together. Damian blinked, and his voice was miserable. “Gifts?”

“’Tis the season, remember?” Clark grinned encouragingly. “And I mean, talk about _subtle_. No one will question any sort of ulterior motive. At least…not so long as you pick a little something up for Jason, too. Presents for your whole family, you know? No one will think otherwise.”

Damian stared at him critically. His face brightened a little. “That…might work.”

“Oh, trust me on this one, kiddo.” Clark laughed, rubbing Damian’s hair as he stood. “Christmas gifts are _great_ for wooing. Ask your dad.”

Damian followed the gesture. Standing and brushing the snow from his sleeves. “You won’t…you really won’t tell him, will you? Or Grayson?”

“Nah. This’ll stay between you and me.” Clark promised. Cautiously, he reached out, spinning Damian around and leading him back towards the house with a hand on his back. He could still see Dick and Bruce watching from the window, but refused to look directly at them. Though in his periphery, he could see Dick’s arms crossed, clearly jealous that Clark was the one to get the secret out of Damian. “You just give me a call if you ever want to talk about it, or need help with it, okay?”

“I suppose…I could do that.” Damian conceded, turning slightly in Clark’s grip to whistle for Titus, who had bounded into the bushes nearby.

“However…” Clark muttered gleefully. Damian looked up at him suspiciously. “I can’t promise you won’t find an _ungodly_ amount of mistletoe practically everywhere you and Tim might be together. And that includes on patrol.”

Damian scoffed dramatically and looked away, but Clark could see the deep blush appearing on his cold cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Damian has a crush and inspiration strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I mentioned it in the first part, so I’ll fix that in a minute, but Damian’s like…I dunno, 19/21 in this story. Clark ships these two apparently, and wants to help them get together/be happy. I honestly didn’t mean for that to happen. The boys had their own little gift exchange, and will have one with Bruce and Clark and everyone else in a few days. Along with the books, Damian also got Jason some old/antique guns. Uh…I can’t really give you a reason as to why Clark was at the manor and Bruce isn’t. Let’s just say he’s in the shower or something.

_“Kon mentioned some things.”_ Clark’s text read. Almost instantly another one came in. _“And don’t worry, I didn’t tell him why I was asking… Said Tim likes books… Classics, mostly. Shakespeare plays. Sherlock Holmes… But in terms of more modern stuff apparently he’s a bit of a fantasy and sci-fi buff.”_

Damian didn’t respond, but knew his father’s boyfriend wasn’t expecting one. He sighed, pocketing the phone and continuing down the small lane. It was a suburb of Gotham, a little one-street town that was surprisingly untouched by its mother city’s crime rate. The buildings were old, more in the style of the 1950s than of the new millennium, and all done up with holiday decorations. He’d only walked one block and had already seen four Santa Clauses.

But it was…amusing. The town was even, dare he say…cute.

Surely he’d find a nice gift here.

He still hadn’t decided anything past taking Clark’s advice. He’d get Drake a gift, but what kind? It couldn’t _just_ be an object. It had to be special. Sentimental. But not too much. No, it couldn’t be more important than Grayson’s; that might be suspicious.

He passed the shop windows, pausing at each display. These people put a lot of time and effort into it, that much was clear. So despite the headphones jammed into his ears, whenever he caught glimpse of a worker watching him, he gave them a quick smile of appreciation before moving on.

Suddenly, another buzz of his phone.

_“Upgrades to hero tech is always an option too.”_

Damian hummed, ducking into a bookstore. It was a complete hole in the wall, probably just a full novels short of bursting. The wooden shelves were a little close together, and bending under their held weight. But the little old woman who ran the shop was loud and interesting, starting a new wild tale every time Damian picked up a book, and claiming that each one was completely true.

It wasn’t long before he had a basketful. Classics, moderns, used, new, and even a first edition or two. Not all for Tim of course – he knew Jason appreciated these stories just as much – but a good chunk of them were.

But, as he sat in the back corner of the store, sorting through the books one last time before checking out, he felt…dissatisfied. This wasn’t right. Or at the very least, it wasn’t _enough_.

“Quantity doesn’t equal quality, young man.” Damian’s head shot up to see the little old woman – Francis, she said her name was – standing over him with a wide grin. “But whatever you get, I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Damian blinked quickly before shaking his head with a mumble. “Not a she.”

“He, she, whatever floats your schooner, skipper.” She waved him off. “But my suggestion? Skip all the new stuff. Get your paramour the Conan Doyle. Not a first edition, but it’s old. Well loved by the previous owner. They even wrote their own theories for some of Sherlock’s cases. I think your boy will like that.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“What can I say!” Francis cackled. “I’m good at reading people, even if I’ve never met ‘em. And judging by your other book choices, your boyfriend thinks himself a detective, eh?”

Damian pursed his lips but couldn’t stop the smirk from taking over his face. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Then go with the old Conan Doyle. He’ll love it.” Francis confirmed. “And that’s all that matters, right?”

“…I suppose.” Damian shrugged, obviously not being given a choice as Francis whisked away the basket, tossing back only the Sherlock Holmes volume and two of the books he’d chosen for Jason. “But…what did you mean, when you said ‘quality over quantity?’”

“It means when your lover likes books, you don’t buy them every novel under the sun.” Francis winked as she turned away, laughing at Damian’s sudden blush. “You write them a whole new story.”

Damian watched Francis start to put the books from his basket away, pondering at her words. “But…what if I can’t write?”

“Then do what you can do.” She turned back to Damian, her brown eyes twinkling as she looked over Damian’s hunched form. Her eyes landed on his hands and he found his own gaze following suit. His fingers were dusty, smudged with graphite and streaked with charcoal from doodling earlier in the day. Francis’s voice was smug as she said, “Surely a young fella like you is good at _something_.”

~

“Wow.” Tim whistled, holding the book out in front of him, running his fingers gently across the faded cover. “This is…wow. Damian, this is _amazing_.”

“I just…” Damian shrugged, turning away. “I don’t know, I just saw it at some store the other day.”

Tim huffed in disbelief. “Well…well _okay_ , but…”

“Damian really stepped up the game for gift giving this year.” Dick laughed from the hallway, hanging off one of the trapezes Damian had installed for him. Alfred and Jason stood nearby, a look of disapproval adorning the butler’s face and amusement across Jason’s. “Gonna make the rest of us look bad.”

“I’ll say!” Tim agreed with his own gleeful snort. He opened the book for what seemed like the millionth time since he’d torn away the wrapping, turning straight to the handwritten notes and theories. “But seriously, Damian. _Thank you_. This is… _really_ cool.”

“It’s…” Damian leaned back on the sofa, trying to hide his blush both from the man next to him and the three in the hall. “It’s nothing.”

Alfred suddenly cleared his throat in the hallway. “Master Richard, while I’m sure you are having the time of your life up there, I’d rather you and Master Jason help me in the kitchen _before_ you fall to my impeccably polished floors and break your arm.”

“Of course, of course. I’m coming, Alfie.” Dick suddenly flipped out of view, his chattering voice fading as he, Jason and Alfred disappeared through the kitchen doors.

“We better go, too.” Tim grunted as he stood, book stashed safely in the crook of his arm as he walked away. “I’m sure Alfred and Jay can only take so much talk about Dick’s new acrobatic toy.”

Damian watched him for a moment before: “Wait.”

“Hm?” Tim turned at the family room’s entryway. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…” Damian reached under the sofa, pulling out a thin package, wrapped simply in red paper with a green bow. He hesitantly stepped forward, thrusting the gift forward. “Here.”

“…What’s this?” Tim asked cautiously, taking the parcel anyway.

“In case you didn’t like the book.”

“Oh.” Tim stared at it, blinking dumbly. “But…I _did_ like the book.”

Damian’s lips pressed together anxiously. Tim noticed the younger man wouldn’t meet his eyes, wouldn’t stop staring at the floor. Damian sighed harshly. “Just _take_ it, Drake. Jeez.”

Tim shrugged, slipping his fingers under the seam of the paper, and tearing it away. Inside was a manila envelope, which he quickly flipped open. He noticed Damian glance up in his periphery, but didn’t get a chance to comment on it before letting out an astonished gasp.

There were three pages, each with a large drawing. The top one was of Tim and his friends. Steph, Kon, Bart and Cassie were most prominent, with some of the other Titans behind them. They were all smiling, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. No one was in costume, just in their normal clothes. If Tim didn’t know better, he’d say it was copied from photograph. But that was absurd, because no such photograph existed.

The second page had two images. One of Tim and Bruce, and one of Tim and Dick. In Bruce’s, the man had a hand wrapped Tim’s shoulders, and he was _smiling_. Joyful and worry-free. In Dick’s, his elder brother had him wrapped in an octopus-like grip and was kissing at his face. Again, it almost looked like a real picture, but it was impossible.

But the third.

The third was the most simple, but probably the most powerful. It was Tim as he was now. A twenty-something businessman in desperate need of a haircut. Next to him, his arm linked through Tim’s, face leaning against Tim’s hair, was his father. Jack Drake.

And even in the monotone colors, even in the light pencils and smeared charcoal, Jack’s face was beaming with pride. Tim’s face also seemed bright, seemed happier than Tim knew he’d really been in ages.

“I…” Damian’s soft voice cut through his astonishment. “I couldn’t find a proper photograph of your mother to reference. I apologize.”

“ _Apologize_ \- wha-” Tim breathed, spreading the drawings out in his hand, so he could look at them all at the same time. They were beautiful, wonderful, amazing, stunning and… Tim was quickly running out of adjectives. “Damian, these are _incredible_.”

Damian shrugged shyly, repeating, “It’s…nothing.”

“ _Nothing_? It must have taken you _hours_!” Tim exclaimed, his shock slowly giving way to excitement as a grin crept up his face. “…is this why you didn’t go on patrol last night?”

“Perhaps.” Damian mumbled. “That and setting up Grayson’s trapeze.”

“Man, I can’t wait to see what you got Alfred. Or _Bruce_.” Tim chuckled warmly. His eyes seemed to mist over as he rearranged the artwork back into a pile, the portrait of he and Jack on top. Much like the novel, he gently ran his fingers across the smooth paper, pausing on his father’s face. “I…heh, I don’t even know what to say, Damian. And I don’t really think a simple thank you is enough.”

“It would be.” Damian assured, watching Tim’s wide eyes and parted lips, staring at the rosiness to his cheeks. He felt his own lips twitch up at the sight as he thought, _‘This_ is _.’_

There was a creak of the kitchen door as Jason popped his head out. “If you two wanted any cookies, you better hurry before Dickie eats all the dough.”

“R-right. Um, coming, Jason.” Tim stuttered, stacking the drawings on top of the novel, and holding everything in his hands. Jason glared suspiciously before nodding and disappearing back into the kitchen. Tim inhaled, looking down at his gifts before glancing back into the family room. “I…uh…I think I’ll leave these in here? Just in case the kitchen gets messy. And, knowing our brothers, it probably already is, so…”

Tim trailed off as he trotted back to the sofa. He stared at his presents one more time, seemingly unable to let them go. But finally, he forced himself to, bending at the waist to place them gently on the couch cushions.

As he did so, Damian heard a noise from the upper landing, a light hiss. He glanced up to see Clark leaning over the railing. He had a wide grin on his face as he winked and gave Damian a thumbs-up. Damian felt his face heat up instantly. Had his father’s boyfriend been there the whole time…?

Suddenly Clark’s thumbs-up turned into a point, aimed right above Damian’s head. Damian’s eyes followed the path before involuntarily widening.

He _didn’t_.

“Damian? What’re you…? _Oh_.” Tim started, coming back to stand next to Damian, his neck equally craned as he stared upwards. “Who put that there?”

Damian gulped. The mistletoe glimmered as it slowly spun, catching the light from the hallway chandelier. “I…I don’t know.”

“Hm. Well.” Damian saw Tim shrug, but couldn’t react before he felt a press of warm lips against his cheek. Damian’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as they darted back up to Clark, who was silently cheering like he was at a sporting event. Tim lingered there for a moment before pulling away with a light _smack!_ Damian remained frozen for a few seconds before slowly turning his head to stare at the older man. Tim’s face was still close, his smile smaller now, more private, and maybe a little bit knowing. “Tradition is tradition, after all.”

Tim moved back then, turning and scurrying quickly towards the kitchen, leaving Damian practically gaping where he stood.

As the kitchen door clicked close behind Tim, Clark’s giddy voice echoed through foyer, shaking Damian from his stupor. “Soooo,” Clark was still grinning wildly when Damian looked back up at him. “That’s a good start, don’t you think?”


End file.
